


Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Insane

by delphia2000



Category: Kung Fu: The Legend Continues
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:02:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delphia2000/pseuds/delphia2000





	Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Insane

Peter was angry, guilty and ready to run---IF he'd had a place to run to. But where would he go? The temple was destroyed, the room where he'd lived with Old Ping Hai no doubt rented out to someone else and, Ping Hai himself, probably dead. The only recourse would be to run back to the Orphanage and that was the last place he wanted to be.

Besides, he actually liked living with his latest foster family. Paul and Annie Blaisdell had been more than fair to him. When you came down to it, he didn't deserve to be with such nice people. He hadn't meant to set the kitchen on fire and they were fair when they told him he wasn't being punished for that. They understood he wasn't familiar with electrical appliances and it had been an accident. He was only trying to help out by making dinner when he'd found out everyone was going to be coming home late.

But there was no excuse for leaving food cooking on the stove to go shoot some hoops with one of the neighborhood guys. He knew better than that. Annie's biggest fear was fire and they had plenty of fire extinguishers available all over the house. And when he found the fire blazing, he'd panicked. Paul had come home just in time.

Fortunately, the damage had been minimal and the worst of it was cleaning up all the soot from the smoke. So they had let him choose his own punishment. Being grounded seemed to be the best of the choices they gave him, but having to always have an adult around when he wasn't at school was getting on his nerves. It wasn't so bad with Annie. She was teaching him to cook when they were home alone. However, Paul always had something physical for him to do like repainting the smoke-damaged laundry room. And the fire extinguisher practice had been humiliating. It was a constant reminder of how stupid he'd been. He'd almost burned down the best home he'd ever been in.

He just couldn't bring himself to explain that when he'd seen the black billows of smoke and crackling flames, it had thrown him instantly back to the night the temple was destroyed and he'd been frozen with terror.

Even though it had been almost a week since the incident, he realized he could still smell the smoke even in this room and crankily slammed his book shut. He'd been trying to study his history but just couldn't concentrate while he was still so disgusted with himself. It would be nice to go up to his room and work on that model he'd been building, but Paul told him to stay in the dining room and study while he had gone into his den with two men who had arrived a short while ago.

Paul came out of his den with the two men on his heels, all of them looking very serious. "Peter, I have to go out for a while," Paul announced. "This is Kermit Griffin and he'll be staying with you until Annie gets back."

"What?" came the outraged exclamation from a short, dark-haired man in an ill-fitting suit and sunglasses. "Blaisdell, do I look like a baby-sitter to you?"

"I don't need a baby-sitter," echoed Peter immediately in his most sullen tone, every bit as unthrilled with the situation.

"We had a deal, Peter. You chose the parameters. Adult supervision for three weeks, remember? And you, Griffin," Paul added as he turned to the man, "This assignment too hard for you? You said you still had work to do on that coding. You have a problem with here and now?"

Peter knew that tone. Paul had on his 'go ahead and make my day' face. He waited breathlessly to see what the man would say next. The third man in the group had taken a step back as if expecting trouble. The man in the sunglasses had a frown that would take a couple years growth off an oak tree, but even he shifted uncomfortably under Paul's look. Finally, he tossed his briefcase onto the table and jerked out a chair saying, "Fine. I'll stay. But if the kid takes a powder, I'm not chasing him down."

"Peter won't do that," Paul assured Griffin, "He's not that kind of person. He knows how to live up to his promises. Annie should be home in about an hour. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen except the cupcakes in the pantry. They're for Carolyn's Bake Sale."

Griffin dropped into the chair ungracefully. "Bake sales," he muttered under his breath as Paul and the other man left, "I'm in suburban Hell."

It made Peter angry. "Mom Blaisdell makes great cupcakes," Peter defended, "And you'd be lucky to have a home like this."

The man set down the sheaf of computer printouts he'd taken from his briefcase. "What makes you think I don't?"

Peter looked him over carefully before answering. "From that gray in your hair,   
I'd say you're too old to live with your parents, you don't have on a wedding ring and if you ever had a home like this, you'd recognize how nice it is and not be knocking it."

Griffin's face was almost unreadable behind the sunglasses but Peter was certain he'd hit some tender target just from the sudden tightening of the man's jaw. "Good observation, kid. You'd make a good detective and it might even keep you alive some day. But today, it could just get you killed."

Peter might have laughed if he hadn't recognized the bulge under the man's left armpit. Paul sometimes carried a gun there too. Then again, Paul would never leave him with someone who would hurt him. At least he didn't think he would. "Don't you have homework or something to do?" Griffin asked as he went back to studying his papers.

"Yes," Peter admitted as he opened his book again. "American History. We're doing the VietNam War. Ever hear of it?"

Peter didn't know why he asked that. It just seemed like a flip thing to say so the man would know he wasn't afraid of him. He glanced up and found Griffin was staring at him. Or probably staring. Hard to tell through the sunglasses.

"Oh yeah, I've heard of it. Heard it, smelled it, tasted it."

"You were there?"

"Yeah."

"What was it like? As bad as they say in the book?"

"That's where I got the gray streak," Griffin answered as he stood up. "I'm getting me something to drink," and he went quickly into the kitchen.

Must have been bad enough if he didn't want to talk about it, Peter considered. Griffin came back in holding an empty glass and disappeared into Paul's den only to come back out minutes later with the glass full of what smelled like Paul's best scotch. "Paul keeps that locked up," Peter accused.

The man grinned a bit as he sat back down. "I know."

"Then how did you...?"

Griffin cut in, "You don't want to know."

"I'm telling Paul."

"I'm counting on it. Now shut up and let me do my homework," he said giving   
Peter a meaningful look.

Then he went back to highlighting sections of the computer printouts. Peter read for a few minutes but when the joined sections of computer paper were stretched across the table far enough, he could see the gibberish on it was the Cyrillic alphabet. "Hey, isn't that Russian?" he asked curiously.

Griffin didn't lift his head. "Oh, yeah."

"So what is all that stuff?"

"I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you."

"Okay."

Griffin's head jerked up. Peter grinned at him.

"Tell you what. You tell me what got you grounded and I'll tell you what this is, for all the good it will do you."

Peter did his best to copy that fierce scowl he'd seen earlier, but from Griffin's grin he guessed he hadn't achieved it. "It wasn't my fault," he finally blurted out.

"Right." Griffin went back to his papers.

Peter swallowed hard. There was an awful feeling burning in the back of his throat and behind his eyes. "I did something careless," he finally said quietly. "I was stupid. I don't know why they let me stay."

Griffin put down the highlighter and took a sip of his drink. "Paul doesn't give up that easy," he commented, staring into the glass. "I've done careless, stupid things too. Things that have almost gotten us killed. But he lets me stay, too. Maybe he's just stupid."

"Paul is the nicest, kindest, finest man I ever met," came Peter's enraged protest as he half rose from his chair. "and he's smarter than you are."

Griffin calmly took another sip of the scotch. "What makes you think so?"

"Because you work for him and you do what he says. Even stuff you don't want to do," Peter answered him triumphantly, sitting back down.

"Brilliant deduction, Mr. Holmes. So if you're so smart, why are you still here? Just what is it that he sees in you?"

Peter was silent. He'd searched for the answer to that question already and still had no clue. "I don't know," he whispered.

Then looking carefully at the very calm man across from him, he asked, "Do you know what he sees in you?"

Griffin shook his head. "No. But I don't care. I'm just grateful he sees something and trust him enough that he knows what he's doing. And I do my level best not to disappoint him."

He set the drink down and went back to the printouts. Peter stared down at his book but the words were blurred and meaningless. Paul was the finest man he ever met, next to his father, of course. These were good people. The kind of people his father would have wished for him to find. Everybody made mistakes. Paul had only punished him for things he should have known to do and every so-called punishment was a actually just a lesson. Practical things. Like how to use a fire extinguisher. Things his father would have taught him. He was doing worse to himself by feeling guilty and like he wasn't worth the food he ate. Paul saw something and he should be trusting Paul too.

He glanced back up at Griffin. The guy had the right idea. Don't waste energy on trying to figure out the answer to a question that could never be answered. Just be glad for what you got. And whatever Griffin was getting from Paul, it couldn't be as good as being chosen to be his son.

Griffin glanced up at him. "Suppose Paul would be terribly disappointed if we did get into those cupcakes?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't think he'd ground you. Shoot you maybe, but Mom makes really good cupcakes. Might be worth it."

Griffin sighed. "Well, that doesn't scare me, but facing Annie does. I guess we'll just have to starve."

"I know where some home-baked cookies are. I hid them from Kelly and Carolyn. Chocolate chips. They probably won't taste good with your drink though."

Griffin got up, "They're fine as long as you don't dunk them. Lead on, kid."

Peter grinned as he shoved back his chair. "So, it sounds like you've crossed Annie before."

"Oh, yeah. Just the one time."

Peter led the way towards the kitchen. "When was that?"

"I could tell you..."

"...but then I'd have to kill you....yeah, right, got ya."

The End


End file.
